


The Sweet Kiss of the Blade

by piratecats



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-15
Updated: 2014-02-15
Packaged: 2018-01-12 12:01:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1185979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/piratecats/pseuds/piratecats
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean find out about Marco cutting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sweet Kiss of the Blade

**Author's Note:**

> Basically, I recently found out that one of my friends cut. Naturally, I wanted to help her any way I could and she mentioned that expressing her feelings helped. We worked together to create this- me with the storyline and her with the feelings. Please don't hate on me for writing cutting fics- if you're easily triggered, please stop reading here and find something happier to read. I tried writing this to show other people what it feels like.
> 
> Personally, she found that writing these feelings down helped her focus better, and she's stopped cutting. If you do suffer from self-harm, don't suffer in silence. Talk to somebody, my tumblr is live-less-dream-more if you need someone to talk to. Trust me when I say you can get through this x

Marco let out a cool hiss. It had been too long since he had done this. The cool, sweet kiss of the blade as it glided across his skin was addictive. The sensation of blood drip drip **dripping** down his arms mirrored the tear trail dripping down his face. He absolutely despised himself at the moment. He felt so weak for slipping into relapse. He knew that he should have gotten help, but he figured that he would be strong enough to get through this by himself. How wrong he was. He was absolutely useless- he couldn't even stop for one day? Gazing down at scar-crossed wrists, biting his lips, he succumbed to temptation. Just one more, he thought.

 

Ten scars later, Marco ran his arms under running water. He watched as his blood swirled with the clear, pure water. There was something tragically beautiful about watching his blood, his life force, dance with the water, forming patterns. In a daze, he dragged his finger through the water, absently creating patterns. He didn't know why, but the feeling of the blade slipping over scar-crossed skin, leaving trails down his arm helped him to focus. The sharp clarity of the pain brought the world in focus, and Marco felt worthless once more. At first, Marco hadn't been able to bring the blade to his skin, and he nearly laughed at the irony of it all. He was too pathetic to even cut himself properly. But soon, he realised that the pain was only temporary, but the sensation of warm blood running down his arms was not. A loud knock on the door slammed him out of his reverie. _God Marco, have you fallen down the toilet or something? What's taking you so long?_   Jean screamed at him from the other side of the door.

 

Ah, Jean. Blissfully unaware, he thought back. Jean was better in every single way compared to him- he was so carefree, so smart. He knew how to talk to other people, how to make them laugh. Jean was the sort of person you wanted to be friends with, to be close to. You knew that with Jean, you could rely on him. He was smart- **god** , he was intelligent. He was that person always fooling around in lessons, never paying attention and yet miraculously scoring 90% or above in tests. And that wasn't the only thing- he was handsome as well. Marco knew that he was lucky to have such a boyfriend, and he didn't even know how he had managed to secure him. What with his ridiculous-but-cute two-tone hair, his slim, lithe frame and his golden honey-dripping eyes. Eyes that were staring into his now.

 

He stumbled, only just hearing Jean's desperate wail. He couldn't really see the wild worry in his eyes, or feel Jean shaking his shell-shocked body. Still bewildered, he noticed Jean's mouth moving but heard empty, silent words streaming out. _Marco, why do you do this to yourself?_ Tears streamed down both faces. _I don't know why you do this, but I swear I'll help you get better. Even if it's the last thing I do._ Those delicate fingers that Marco had always admired were carefully peeling his arms  away, wrapping clean bandages. The strange tight feeling in his arms as they were sterilised, and patted down carefully. Ghostly light touches caressed his arms as Jean worked quickly and efficiently. At last, when Jean was finished, he left one lingering kiss on each scar he had covered.

 

 _Take the razor._ Marco couldn't understand what Jean wanted. It was bad enough that he had found out, now what shame would be inflicted on him?

 

Rolling up his sleeves, with steely determination, Jean looked him in the eye and whispered, _Cut me_. Marco recoiled with horror. What did Jean want? He couldn't bear to see the blade glide across previously unmarred skin, to see the rivulets of blood trickling down, or to see his gorgeous face contort in pain.

 

..."But Jean..." he whispered.

 _"Just do it."_ Cold fortitude seeped into his eyes.

"But I can't."

And with that, Jean smiled. _"Now you know how I feel when you want to cut yourself. Marco, I love you and I can't bear to see the sight of you hurting yourself. I'm here for you."_

 

And Marco believed those four little words. 


End file.
